


Grantaire Knows Best

by JoanneValjean



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Drugs, F/M, No offence intended, Prostitution, Substance Abuse, modern a/u, that's pretty much it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-06
Updated: 2013-04-06
Packaged: 2017-12-07 15:57:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/750325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoanneValjean/pseuds/JoanneValjean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire just scored the jackpot on some drugs, but he has too much.. He decides to share with the first person he sees.  Grantaire didn't expect to come out alive or in her bed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grantaire Knows Best

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a prompt on the kink meme:
> 
> Pretty much the last sentence of the summary. I'm authoranon, but I expanded the story in this.
> 
> And thanks to KissTheBoy7, Magnetism_Bind, Fancifullauren, and Do_You_Permit_It7, who all inspired me with their works. This sucks like crap, but I tried.
> 
> VIVE LA FRANCE!  
> >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>  
> FOLLOW ME ON TWITTER:
> 
> https://twitter.com/JoanneValjean

Grantaire saunters down the street.. He is drunk and almost completely inebriated by the liquor. The cynical drunkard is shifting from one foot to the other, swaying to what seems to be a music that only he can hear. In one hand, he holds a few crumpled dollar bills, and in the other, he has a small bag of happiness.

Well, it is not really happiness that's in the baggie. It's about three pounds of marijuana, the cheap kind, all ready for him to smoke and ruin his life. Not like he cares, though. He broke up with his girlfriend, and a lot of other crappy things were happening to him. Currently, he's mapping out his escape plan, and this seems to be the right way to do it. It cost him $3,840. When they find his cold, dead body lying face-down in the alley, nobody will care how much money that he spent................nobody but the teenage dealer, that is. He can still remember that look of absolute glee on the kid's face as he forked over the bills.

Three pounds is a lot, and Grantaire doesn't want to use it all. He's not that desperate.

"Maybe I can share!" he screams out loud. A few passersby give him questioning looks, but turn away and continue to walk away from the rambling freak who's screaming nonsense.

Among the people who walk away is a 17-year-old girl, shivering in the cold air in a coat that's threadbare and obviously not warm enough for November. He scans her body and sees that her butt-length jeans aren't warm enough, either. She's wearing thigh-high hooker boots that are the only expensive looking thing about her. The leather looks like it's butter in leather form. Her dark-brown hair ismatted, tangled, and splayed about her face. Makeup is smeared hastily on her face. Mascara runs down her cheeks as if she was crying.

"What's wrong?" Grantaire asks, throwing an arm over the girl's shoulder.

She gives him a look and replies, "None of your business." She shudders before continuing, "Now pay or go away.". Grantaire realizes that his hunch was correct, she really is a hooker. Maybe she needs escape as well....

"Mademoiselle...."

"Éponine.". Grantaire remembers her now. She's Marius' shadow, the girl who follows him like a lovesick puppy. He almost feels sorry, for they have something in common: unrequited love.

"Éponine, I want to share this with you. I have too much," he says, shakily waving the bag in her face that he still grasps somewhat firmly.

She eyes the bag wearily with her large brown eyes. She's just gotten off of a particularly rough customer who decided that he wanted her up against the brick wall near the brothel. Éponine still has scratches on her hands that hurt like hell. She needs to escape. It might as well be this way. Pot is a good escape, right?

"Fine."

They just sit there in the alleyway, smoking and telling each other secrets that only high people would tell about.

()()()()

Grantaire yawns, stretching, as he wakes up. He curses marijuana as he realizes that he is still breathing. He can still taste a bit of the smoke from last night. He curses when the sun filtering through the cheap curtains hits his eyes. He curses even more when he realizes that he's not in his own house, let alone his own bed. 

"Where the hell am I?" he wonders aloud.

At that moment, a sweet singing comes and meets his ears. It is soft, light, and reminds Grantaire of the song of the angels. It is a feminine voice, he can tell, and is suddenly hit with a reminder of who he shared the marijuana with. Éponine. Grantaire never knew that her voice was that lovely after knowing its usual roughness.

 

He wanders out of the tiny bedroom and notices a pounding hangover headache, which causes him to groan and hold his head.

In the kitchen is Éponine, who is singing a song while scrambling eggs on a dingy little stove making toast in a dented, tin toasted. She's wearing the clothes from last night, boots included. Her tongue piercing is visible as she sings.

She turns around and sees him standing there. "Oh, you're awake!"

"Yeah, but how did I get here?" Grantaire asks.

"You fell asleep after we finished the pot. I dragged you here 'cause I don't know where your house is.". Then, Éponine returns to singing like nothing unusual happened. 

Grantaire takes the opportunity to compliment her. "Your singing is pretty."

Éponine blushes as she puts the eggs on a plate and butters the toast. Without the makeup, Grantaire decides, she is very beautiful.

"Thanks," Éponine murmurs, setting a plate of food down in front of her latest customer. "Want some food?"

Grantaire complies as he shovels the food into his mouth, for he knows that eating is a good cure of a hangover from experience. The food tastes pretty good.

Maybe, Grantaire thinks, I should share pot with Éponine more often.

**Author's Note:**

> Don't hurt me.


End file.
